


grey areas

by corduroy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, Confusion, Denial, Germany U21, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Fluff, boys being stupid, some brief Christmas stuff, this is really dumb tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corduroy/pseuds/corduroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matze has no epiphanies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grey areas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!
> 
> So I know next to nothing about Dortmund but I tried so please forgive me if anything is glaringly wrong. These boys called to me during the World Cup so this mess is the result :)
> 
> Unbetaed and a very fictitious work of fiction. I own nothing and nobody and these silly characters are just for fun. 
> 
> Feedback is wholeheartedly appreciated and I hope you have a lovely day :D Thank you very much for your time.

 Matze is pondering the warped concept of needing scissors to open a package of scissors when he decides to screw it and start biting. He ignores the gasp beside him until the package is ripped out of his hands.

 “Don’t use your teeth, Matze, never use your teeth,” Erik chastises with a pointed finger. Matze sighs.

 “Wrap everything in newspaper then. Be that guy.”

 “No, I can’t disappoint. My little cousin will die when she sees these Dalmatian puppies.”

 “That would be pretty tragic.”

 “Matze, just shut up.”

 Erik continues to fumble with the package and Matze can’t help but smile at Erik’s growing frustration. He leans to Erik to wrestle the scissors away. Their hands must touch for the thousandth time since they met, but Matze’s not counting.

 “Here-let me just…”

 “It’s okay, I think I’ve finally got it.”

 Erik splits the plastic with a thick crack, and Matze realizes that he’s still leaning on Erik. There’s no reason for his hand to be perched on Erik’s thigh like it is, considering the problem has been solved and he has no business being so close to Erik anymore. He can quietly leave Erik’s territory now. He pulls away and returns to his original cross-legged position with his hands hanging loosely in his lap. He stares at his fingers until they look alien and imagines what life would be like if each finger had its own individual micro-hand. His head snaps up when Erik pulls a long strip of tape with a drawn out _rip_.

 “I can’t believe you actually got your mother a vacuum cleaner. I thought you were joking. Some sons get their mothers cars, or holidays to Greece and stuff, you know,” Erik mumbles through the tape caught between his teeth. The tape catches on his lip as he tears it off the roll.

 “I can’t believe you didn’t have the store gift wrap everything for you.”

 Erik makes a face like he wants to retort, but he shrugs. “You have a valid point.”

Erik smooths out the lumps in the wrapping paper and puts on this stupid grin. With the tinseled Christmas tree behind him, the bow-topped present in his hand, and his orange slice smile, Erik looks like he popped straight out of a department store advert with perfect lighting and a styling crew. Or it could be that Erik always looks like he’s in good lighting. Erik simply always looks like he’s modeling. He reminds Matze that he’s not a photograph when he speaks.

 “But if I had them wrap it for me, then we wouldn’t get to spend all of this quality time together,” he says with a sarcastic chuckle as Matze swats his arm.

 The comment does make Matze think. He hadn’t originally thought that their chosen activity for the night was too strange, but then he recalls that is a Friday night and they are young men in their peak, so to speak. Matze had suggested going out, but Erik had nixed the idea by muttering something vague about freezing temperatures and crowds. Matze just shrugged at the dismissive wave of Erik’s hand and followed him into his living room to be greeted by rolls of patterned wrapping paper and a stack of gifts. Armed with a cold beer in hand, Matze couldn’t complain. It was about time he started getting into the “Christmas spirit” anyway.

 Matze thought that Erik might have liked to go out, though. The unfortunate truth about Erik does include awful snapbacks, questionable tattoos, and Julian Derstroff. But in spite of this, it feels like they never go partying. Matze and Erik do consider themselves to be more “normal” than some others involved in their trade, just like guys you could meet at the grocery store. Albeit guys with higher salaries that depend on them kicking a ball around. And one of them happens to be pretty, verging on gorgeous at certain angles. Matze doesn’t blame Erik for that though; it’s not like Erik picked his face when he was born.

 Erik is holding a round gift set in one hand and a piece of wrapping paper in the other and looks between the two incredulously. Matze recognizes the contents of the box and scoffs.

 “So I can’t get my mother a vacuum cleaner, but you can get yours lotion?”

 Erik smiles again and Matze keeps breathing.

 ~~~~~

 There’s a ray of sun shooting like a laser directly into Matze’s eyes. He snuffles around and goes to pull his blanket over his face when his ear hits something hard and bumpy. The blanket turns out to be imaginary so Matze’s hands are left fruitlessly searching the empty air. The fabric against his cheek feels familiar, like the faded scent of a certain laundry detergent drifting off of it. BVB sweatpants. Erik giggles above him. Matze freezes. The warm thing his head is resting on is not a pillow in the traditional sense.

 “You look like a turtle stuck on its back. Actually now that I think about it, you always kinda look like a turtle,” Erik comments while he trails his hand down to tip up Matze’s chin.

 After realizing he’s not at home in bed, Matze tries to get himself together. But the more he recognizes and orients himself, the more he’s confused. How did he end up asleep on Erik’s couch, his head cradled in Erik’s _lap_ for Christ’s sake? Wrapping paper party gone wild? The emptied glasses on Erik’s coffee table and the Christmas cartoons on his television give Matze all of the clues he needs. They didn’t get crazy drunk or anything. No, they just got stupidly affectionate.

 “Do you want to get breakfast?” Matze says with an internal wince. That phrase seems almost _suggestive,_ considering his position on Erik’s hipbone. Is this cuddling?

 Erik scrunches up his face. “I’ve got a ton of bread here. How do you feel about strawberry jam?”

 “Erik when did you turn into a hermit?” Matze says through a yawn as he stands up from the couch to stretch.

 “Not a hermit, just tired. Maybe sick again.”

 Matze avoids looking at Erik. He can’t look at floppy hair and red cheeks right now. Erik’s not even his best friend; he shouldn’t be falling asleep on him. Matze knows he’s being entirely irrational and just plain dumb, but he feels like they went from teammate-friends to something else in one night. And that feeling could possibly make him hyperventilate. It’s a ridiculous, misleading thought; especially considering his thoughts can be as significant and substantial as homemade dish soap bubbles.

 Still, he has to get out of here.

 Matze remembers that they had each cracked open a few more beers after the gifts were wrapped. Something possessed them to drink out of these expensive glasses Erik’s uncle gave to him as a housewarming gift. He felt adult with the heavy glass weighted in his palm, taking sips for dramatic effect as he and Erik discussed possible Champions League ties and dream vacation spots. Matze recalls how Erik’s face had lit up when he realized his favorite Christmas program was on and begged Matze to stay to watch it. The beer and shared warmth must have been their sedatives; Matze admits he hasn’t slept so dreamless and deeply since the last time he went home. He’s too comfortable.

 He feels a tug on his arm.

 “You can sit back down you know. It’s still goddamn early,” Erik says, now looking annoyed. A pang hits Matze’s chest. He hasn’t been very polite.

 “Uh, no, I’m just going to leave. I’ve got- stuff. See you later, and thanks.” He gives Erik a tight smile, the latter lifting his wrist in a weak wave goodbye.

 ~~~~~

 “You only think it’s weird because you like him.”

 Matze’s face must relay his shock because Mats huffs and continues, “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know. You’ve liked him for awhile now.”

 “Well, yeah, I like him, but not any more than-“

 “Nope, you definitely like him like that. _Like_ like him. ”

 “Mats, what?” Are they twelve?

 “Please, Matze, don’t play dumb. How else could you explain your moon eyes every time he eats something long and cylindri-“

 “Stop right there. Ew? What is wrong with you today? How often does that even happen? Are you taking notes or something, because Mats that’s just weird. And again, ew.”

 “Happens frequently enough for me to notice, no notes needed. “

 Mats is wearing a sly, exaggerated smile. He’s in one of those moods today, as Matze unfortunately discovers. Mats reverts back to his usual mature self and clears his throat. He seems to be milling around words in his head before he speaks again, “Look, Matze, it’s okay. But I don’t think I even need to say that. Just-stop ignoring it or it’ll burn you both.”

 Matze sighs. “I don’t really think I understand what you’re talking about. You’re just-you’re confused.”

 Mats gives him the side-eye, claps his shoulder, and walks out towards the showers. Matze feels like he just let a secret slip out without realizing it and clammy guilt washes over him. He thought this was his own personal thing, but apparently Mats knows more about this situation than he does. He can’t help but think that in some way, he’s let Erik down. Now it seems duller but just as foreign as before.

 Mats’ more off-color comment has the blush lingering on his cheeks as he settles onto the bench in front of his locker. Matze tries to analyze it but his mind keeps coming back to one thing: he truly _doesn’t_ know what Mats means. He knows what it’s like to “ _like_ like” someone as Mats had phrased it. He’s been with a handful of girls and waking up next to them certainly didn’t feel like it had when he opened his eyes to see Erik hovering over him.

 There’s a puff of breath near his neck that almost makes him jump to his feet. When the heat slides in closer, he does jump.

 “Oh, hi Erik.”

 Erik’s grin fades and his brow creases a bit. “Matze, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing.” He says it too fast.

 If a month ago Erik would have set next to him to gently coax him into a “bro” heart to heart, now he just grabs his bag and rises.

 “Alright, whatever. See you.”

 Matze chokes. Mats appears out of nowhere to pat his back as if he were burping a baby.

 “It’s you, my friend. You’re making it weird,” Mats calls, followed by the click of the door behind him.

 ~~~~~~

 “You wouldn’t freak out so much if you weren’t in love with him.”

 Here we go again, Matze thinks. He groans and throws his head back on the headrest. Matze can count with his hands the number of times Marco has said more than ten words to him. Mats must have something to do with the reason why Marco is sitting next to him on the bus.

 “Matze, you must understand that you are awkward by trade, like, employee of the month for awkwardness. So stop trying to instantly become perfect, because you’re not. You’re awkward. And everyone knows this, _including your friend Erik_. Be yourself.” Marco says that last part with a wink. Matze would like to know when all of his teammates became life coaches. They’re not very good at it.

 The thing is, Matze doesn’t think he’s freaking out. If anybody is freaking out, it’s Erik. They hardly even speak anymore. Erik stopped initiating.  It seemed natural as Matze became more settled in Dortmund.

 Matze has friends now, both in the city and in the team. Milos is a good guy.

 Marco pulls the earbud out of Matze’s ear and continues. “First off, stop ignoring me, you dick. I have good advice.”

 Matze turns to watch trees stream by his window. Marco flails in exasperation and situates himself on his knees so he’s leaning into Matze’s space. 

“You wouldn’t care if all you did was fall asleep on him all cozy on a couch after acting like housewives all night. I swear you’ve cuddled with your friends before everybody does it, maybe you were really drunk when it happened considering you have some weird, 1800s view on personal boundaries. But you’ve still done it. So there is a reason this time was different and you became turtleish.”

 That makes Matze pay attention. Erik must have said something too.

 “Okay, good. Now you’re listening. You were uncomfortable because you were actually really fucking comfortable. But your little innocent brain didn’t know how to handle this so you seized up and hauled ass out of Erik’s warm and friendly legs.”

 Blood rushes to Matze’s cheeks. Erik hadn’t skimped on details. Matze wishes he could forget the rather abrupt imagery; he had woken up with his face directly centred between Erik’s legs. How he ended up there is the worry. He doesn’t like to think that he instinctually migrated that way in his sleep, but he can’t pinpoint when and where he first dozed off. He doesn’t want to assess which scenario is worse.

 He wonders what is means that both Mats and Marco’s minds went dirty in regard to the “situation.” Matze doesn’t think he comes off in a certain way. They just want to tease him. None of this means anything. Matze doesn’t even think about it unless it’s brought up.

 Marco pinches his cheek and smiles. “God, Matze, you are such a prude. Calm down. It’s not worth it to lose a friend.” Then he waddles back to Kevin and Auba and slips on obnoxious headphones.

 Matze closes his eyes and tilts his head towards the cool window. He hears Erik stifling raucous laughter before he falls asleep.

 ~~~~~~

 “So you haven’t mentioned Erik once yet. Are you not obsessed with him anymore?”

 Matze doesn’t have the patience for this. He thought the U21 would be a nice escape from a shit season. He flips Leo the bird.

 “Okay, just wanted to know how he’s doing, didn’t realize I struck a nerve. Did you break up or something?”

 “Christ, Leo. You’re not funny. If you want to know how he is then text him.”

 “Drama, Matze. It’s the sass that I don’t need. Be a gentleman and tell your friend Leonardo what’s going on.”

 “I don’t know. We don’t talk so much anymore. There’s no real story.”

 “You used to fangirl nonstop, I don’t believe that you just randomly stopped talking. Brazil was like your Paris.”

 Matze scrunches his nose and swivels his heels to stare down a grinning Leo.  The latter plops down on his bed so he’s sitting leaning forward and twiddling his thumbs. Matze wishes Erik were here, like it used to be, so they could pile on Leo. But he doesn’t wish Erik were here, because he doesn’t need him, because he’s fine.

 “I fell asleep on his morning wood and now I’m waiting for the awkward to pass. Good enough reason for you?” That seems to be the answer everyone wants to hear. Even if it’s not his true motive, since he has no motives, he and Erik just grew apart. However, it is sensational and will hopefully shut Leo up.

 “Aww you were snuggling?! Don’t worry about it, happens with Mo and me all the time. Hey!! Do you wanna cuddle with us? It can get cold here. I was trying to get Marc to but he seemed only half invested…”

 There’s so much Matze wants to say to this, but the buzz of his phone cuts him off. Leo latches onto to his shoulder and reads as Matze tries to body check him into the wall.

  **Erik** : hey good luck at the EM x

 Matze’s mind processes the harmless “x” and twists up enough to ignore the array of obscene noises Leo is producing. Then Matze snaps out of it.

 “ _Fuck off_ why is everyone overthinking everything?” Matze shouts with all the venom he can muster. Leo continues to roll maniacally in the mound of pillows.

 “Matze you should see yourself you practically just came in your pants I mean he took a minute away from THAILAND to send you a PERSONAL MESSAGE with a KISS!!!”

 And with that the curtain closes and Matze figures it’s best to remove himself from the situation and walks back to his own room.

 ~~~~~~

 “….love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away….”

 Moritz’s strained singing comes from behind as Matze angrily dumps fruit onto his plate. The singing gratefully stops, but twin giggling fills its place. Mo and Leo really are a public safety hazard when they get together.

 Matze is leaving the breakfast buffet when a hand claps his shoulder. He cautiously turns to see Kevin pulling his best Dad-frown. Matze rolls his eyes. “Not you too?”

 “Matze, I heard you and Erik had a falling out. That’s unfortunate.”

 “Al...right, Kevin. I appreciate it.” He takes a moment to pray that this will be the last of these conservations. He just wants to sit the hell down.

 Kevin walks silently by his side as they approach the table. Leo beckons Matze towards empty seat beside him, but Kevin pulls up two chairs for them instead. Matze half expects Leo to unfold a handwritten letter and for Mo to start crying. But Kevin doesn’t hold Matze’s hand so this can’t be an intervention. Then Kevin sighs. “Matthias, this is an intervention.” Damnit.

 Matze purses his lips and reconsiders this whole football thing. The tabloids are correct; footballers are fucking idiots. He wants to eat breakfast, though, so he sits back and endures. Leo clears his throat and looks him flat in the eye as he speaks, “You see, Matthias, your obsession with a certain fullback is starting to affect your playing.”

 Matze takes a very long sip of coffee and hopes that it portrays his level of exasperation. “Actually, Leo, it has not.”

 “So you admit to your obsession,” Leo says as his eyes blow up. The coffee pools in Matze’s cheeks while he tries to strangle Leo and not choke at the same time. Leo ducks out of reach into Mo’s lap. Bernd and Emre are starting to stare.

 Mo pipes up. “See how the topic of Erik overtakes you with uncharacteristic bouts of rage? It’s unhealthy. Now that your relationship has been strained, your pining is worthless and you have nothing to live for. We can see this to be true. But you are not alone, Matze. We are here to help you.”

 Matze notices this seems scripted and he finds that appalling. Kevin shrugs and attends to buttering his roll. “So we’ve decided that to take your mind off Erik you should start creeping on that Milos guy you practically made out with on the pitch the other night.”

 Matze snatches his plate of food and stomps off towards the lifts. He knows that he is the physical portrait of fury and that he would probably scare a small child, but he doesn’t care. It’s too early for this shit.

 Behind him he hears Leo calling, “You can’t run away forever, young Matthias!”

 Matze presses the button that summons the lifts. What the fuck do they know? They’re just bored and think this is funny. Matze doesn’t think its funny. He doesn’t know what he thinks. So he hasn’t been thinking at all.

 ~~~~~~

 Preseason is in full swing when Matze is in the neighborhood and decides to stop by Erik’s flat because why the hell not. He’s just returned from vacation after the U21 blew up, so he’s in a content haze consisting of residual sweet wine and excitement about Tuchel. Armed with a bag of assorted pastries and the notion that a friendly visit never hurt anyone, he flashes a small smile at Erik’s neighbor and plods his way along to Erik’s front door.

 The first thing he notices is how Erik’s tan makes his teeth look really white. Erik’s smile is innocent and he makes no hesitation to invite Matze in. It’s very Campo Bahia. The mixture of the tan and the sudden flashbacks makes Matze shy; makes him the quiet kid stumbling around first team legends on his way to playing table tennis with who else but the man standing in front of him.

 He doesn’t know why Erik took to him the way he did, maybe it was the shared fact of Dortmund and their mild familiarity. Or Erik’s just a nice guy with a passion for the team baby and pub sports. Maybe Erik has no reason and it doesn’t matter anyway.

 “Sorry for not calling, but I brought you something so,” he says to Erik’s collarbones then his wrists then his own shoelaces. If he keeps this up Maybelline could patent a shade of blush called “Ginterly.” He passes over the pastries and their hands touch for the millionth time since they’ve met. Maybe Matze’s been counting, but probably only in the deep, forbidden recesses of his brain, or not at all.

 Erik licks his lips, and well. He does that all the time but it’s still unnecessary.

 They settle on the couch and Erik rambles on about how much he loves Southeast Asia. Matze is having a hard time keeping up when Erik puts a cannoli to his lips and an image of Mats Hummels flashes through Matze’s brain. His captain’s grin is shoved aside when Matze’s mind blanks. Erik wraps his mouth around the thing to take a bite, seemingly in slow motion. Erik isn’t a catalogue model anymore; this is soft-core porn. Is Erik eating making Matze sweat?

 Pastry crumbs and cream stick to Erik’s lips as the cannoli breaks with the bite. He swipes the cream away with his thumb while looking Matze dead in the eye. Then his face falls.

 “Aw shit. Matze did you want this?”

 Matze swallows hard. “Yes. I want it.”

 Erik rummages through the bag of pastries while Matze mentally slaps himself across the face ten times in a row.

 “I’m sorry, I stole the only one. I should have asked first.”

 Fuck you, Mats. Fuck you, Marco. Fuck you, Leo, Mo. And fuck you very much too, Kevin. Matze is about to consciously make a mistake.

 To muster some courage, he pretends that he actually did want that cannoli. He leans in to taste it on his friend’s lips. Erik doesn’t pull away; Matze has no idea what he’s doing. So far, so good.

 So good is an understatement.

 It takes them a millisecond to fall into each other. The kiss is short and tastes like sugar. They pull away and study one another’s faces. Matze doesn’t run to the bathroom. Success. Erik pops a little biscuit in his mouth and winks. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

 Matze nibbles at a chocolate truffle and tries to hide his smile. “Yeah, we should be having vegetables.”

 Matze blushes and Erik gets them some drinks like this is nothing out of the usual and months of lukewarm didn’t pass between them. They talk about transfers, Jonas, fixtures, Prague, their parents, Auba’s instagram, and some jeans that don’t fit Erik anymore. Matze offers to help him buy some new ones, because everyone knows Erik can’t dress himself.

 When Matze has to leave, Erik walks him out. “See you in training,” he says. Erik notices a frayed fingernail while opening his door and goes to bite it when Matze slaps his hand away.

 “No biting. Never use your teeth.”

 Erik smiles and Matze can’t breathe.

 Maybe he does like Erik. Just a little bit.


End file.
